A Long Day in November by Ernest J. Gaines Page B

want my house fixed and I don’t need no more wood,” Madame Toussaint says. “I got three loads of wood just three days ago from a man who didn’t have money. Before I know it I’ll have wood piled up all over my yard.”
    â€œCan’t I do anything?” Daddy says.
    â€œYou can leave,” Madame Toussaint says. “I ought to have somebody else dropping round pretty soon. Lately I’ve been having men dropping in three times a day. All of them just like you, in trouble with their wives. Get out my house before I put the dog on you. You been here too long for seventy-five cents.”
    Madame Toussaint’s big old jet-black dog gives three loud barks that makes my head hurt. Madame Toussaint pats him on the back to calm him down.
    â€œCome on, Sonny,” Daddy says.
    I let Daddy take my hand and we go over to the door.
    â€œI still don’t feel like you helped me very much, though,” Daddy says.
    Madame Toussaint pats her big old jet-black dog on the head and she don’t answer Daddy. Daddy pushes the door open and we go outside. It’s some cold outside. Me and Daddy go down Madame Toussaint’s old broken-down steps.
    â€œWhat was them words?” Daddy asks me.
    â€œHanh?”

    â€œWhat she said when she looked up out of that fire?” Daddy asks.
    â€œI was scared,” I say. “Her face was red and her eyes got big and white. I was scared. I had to hide my face.”
    â€œDidn’t you hear what she told me?” Daddy asks.
    â€œShe told you three dollars,” I say.
    â€œI mean when she looked up,” Daddy says.
    â€œShe say, ‘Give it up,’” I say.
    â€œYes,” Daddy says. “ ‘Give it up.’ Give what up? I don’t even know what she’s talking ’bout. I hope she don’t mean give you and Amy up. She ain’t that crazy. I don’t know nothing else she can be talking ’bout. You don’t know, do you?”
    â€œUh-uh,” I say.
    â€œ ‘Give it up,’” Daddy says. “I don’t even know what she’s talking ’bout. I wonder who them other men was she was speaking of. Johnny and his wife had a fight the other week. It might be him. Frank Armstrong and his wife had a round couple weeks back. Could be him. I wish I knowed what she told them.”
    â€œI want another piece of cane,” I say.
    â€œNo,” Daddy says. “You’ll be pee-ing in bed all night tonight.”
    â€œI’m go’n sleep with Uncle Al,” I say. “Me and him go’n sleep in his bed.”
    â€œPlease be quiet, Sonny,” Daddy says. “I got enough troubles on my mind. Don’t add more to it.”Me and Daddy
walk in the middle of the road. Daddy holds my hand. I can hear a tractor—I see it across the field. The people loading cane on the trailer back of the tractor.
    â€œCome on,” Daddy says. “We going over to Frank Armstrong.”
    Daddy totes me ’cross the ditch on his back. I ride on Daddy’s back and I look at the stubbles where the people done cut the cane. Them rows some long. Plenty cane’s laying on the ground. I can see cane all over the field. Me and Daddy go over where the people cutting cane.
    â€œHow come you ain’t working this evening?” a man asks Daddy. The man’s shucking a big armful of cane with his cane knife.
    â€œFrank Armstrong round anywhere?” Daddy asks the man.
    â€œFarther over,” the man says. “Hi, youngster.”
    â€œHi,” I say.
    Me and Daddy go ’cross the field. I look at the people cutting cane. That cane is some tall. I want another piece, but I might wee-wee in Uncle Al’s bed.
    Me and Daddy go over where Mr. Frank Armstrong and Mrs. Julie’s cutting cane. Mrs. Julie got overalls on just like Mr. Frank got. She’s even wearing one of Mr. Frank’s old hats.
    â€œHow y’all?” Daddy